


excommunication

by cosmicpoet



Series: shuake week 2019 [6]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angels, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Demons, Hell, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Soul Selling, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-22 17:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Akira makes a deal with a beautiful devil.





	1. Chapter 1

Akira’s heeled boots hit the ground with force, with purpose, kicking up gravel and dust against the thick of the night. His backpack weighs heavy on his back, filled with candles and knives and all the kind of things that a delinquent young adult would be caught carrying - he’s a walking cliché, and it pleases him. If people are going to label him based on a false assault charge that was disproven two years ago, then he may as well give them what they want; he doesn’t even _do _anything wrong, but people still give him shifty looks when he walks anywhere unaccompanied. Perhaps he likes aiding them in their false suspicions by wearing black clothes and over-lining his eyes with eyeliner, just another mask he wears to prevent anyone from getting close to him and understanding that really, deep down inside, he just wants a place to belong.

Of course, he had friends in his year in Tokyo, but having to move back to his parents’ house after his court cause was overturned threw him right back into isolation. And he couldn’t exactly act out, his parents already treat him like a nuisance, and he can’t wait to escape to university once he saves up enough money to live alone, but for now he has to settle for his image not quite matching his half-broken heart.

Tonight, though, he wants things to change. If only for the feel of reckless risk, he wants to try something _life-changing; _all the books he’s read on the subject seem to skirt around the topic of whether demons are actually real or not, but he figures that there’s no harm in trying to summon one. Either it doesn’t work, he feels a bit stupid, and goes back home, or it _does _work and he gets to feel something exhilaratingly genuine for the first time in a long while.

So, he sets up the meticulous scene. The crossroads he’s chosen for the ritual are deserted, he made sure to pick somewhere that takes a complex route from his house, and he’s completely alone as he carves symbols onto the floor and lights the candles, illuminating the night in lieu of streetlights. The words are in Latin, and it’s not a language he speaks, so he made sure to spell them out phonetically hours ago - he’s thankful for this, now, because he reasons that no real demon would want to visit him if he can’t even speak the summoning spell correctly.

But he manages to finish, and then he just has to wait. Nothing particularly happens for a while, even though he stares at the candlelight trying to imagine that some kind of face is forming in the flame; instead, it’s just cold, and he wishes he’d worn a coat. Five minutes pass like this, with him sitting cross legged in the middle of the circle of symbols he drew, feeling increasingly ridiculous as time passes.

Eventually, he has to give it up as a failure, and he steps out of the circle, rolling his eyes at how he could have been foolish enough to get his hopes up. The moment he turns on his heel, a hand pulls him backwards, right back into the circle. Looking up, Akira sees that he’s staring into the eyes of a man who looks to be around his age, except that he’s a few inches taller and there’s some ethereal quality about him that Akira can’t _quite _pinpoint. His eyes aren’t black, he doesn’t have claws or fangs or anything like that, he looks so effortlessly _human _that Akira almost thinks that this is some elaborate trick.

“You summoned me,” he says.

“Ah. So I did,” Akira replies, trying to sound confident.

“What is it you want? No, no, let me guess - money? Fame? The girl of your dreams? All things you think are worth your soul right now.”

“I didn’t think I’d get this far.”

“So you’re just wasting my time? You really think that _you,” _the man - _demon - _spits, and Akira is ashamed by how alive the danger makes him feel, “can try and bind me to the earth without fulfilment of a request?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Do _not _fuck with me.”

The anger that’s evidently boiling hot inside the demon shows on his face, now, and Akira starts to understand the severity of the situation when the physical changes occur so violently; his eyes turn deep red, right down to the sclera, he grows a foot taller, his fingernails elongate into sharp points. His hair seems to be on fire, still light brown, but sizzling and hot to the touch if Akira dared enough to reach out and do so… he’s _fascinated._

“You should have started with that,” Akira says, a smirk thick on his face, “that’s _way_ more impressive than that pretty-boy thing you had going on.”

“I’m not here to impress you visually. The moment you summoned me, you entered into a binding contract - you can’t leave here without dying or offering up your immortal soul to me. The exchange of a gift on my part isn’t exactly mandatory.”

“So I get to have anything I want?”

“There’s nothing that could shock me. I’ve dealt with humans before, you’re all the same - you want money or sex or fame or looks, and it matters to you for a few years before you realise just exactly what you’ve traded in for it.”

“How much time do I have to decide?”

“Until you step out of the circle. That’s on you. It’s not like I have anything better to do, but hurry it up. I don’t like to make a habit out of talking to humans.”

“Right. So you can only leave when I do?”

“Precisely. But don’t try anything. I could kill you on the spot.”

“Why don’t you?”

“It’s not my style. Let’s just say that there are unwritten social rules even in Hell. If I killed everybody who summoned me, it wouldn’t look good on my… what’s the word? _Résumé.”_

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

“There’s nothing you could have to say that would interest me,” the demon says, almost like he’s bored.

“Well, can you tell me your name?”

“There’s no power in it,” he spits, “you can’t break a contract just by knowing who I am. If you really want to know, it’s Goro. Goro Akechi.”

“That’s… strangely human. I’m Akira.”

“Now we have those unnecessary formalities out of the way, have you decided what you want to trade your soul for?” Goro asks.

“How long have you been alive?”

“You couldn’t even comprehend it.”

“Try me.”

“Millennia,” Goro says, almost wistfully.

“And you’ve been taking people’s souls all that time?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, do you have to like, rise up the ranks or something?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?” Akira asks.

Goro turns his back to him, but it’s noticeable that he’s returning to his more human-looking form. Akira can’t see his face, but something in his mind tells him that it must look sad.

“Have you decided yet?” Goro says.

“Not yet. What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter, not to me, and certainly not to a lowly human like you.”

“If you tell me and you feel ashamed afterwards, you can just kill me, right?” Akira says, sitting down on the ground and crossing his legs.

“I could.”

“Then you have nothing to lose.”

“I have my pride.”

“Fuck that.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you. But don’t blame me for what comes afterwards,” Goro says, turning back around and, when he sees that Akira is sitting down, following suit so that they’re staring at each other. “I wasn’t always a demon. I was an angel, at first. For a long, _long _time. Only, I did something bad. I killed a human… on purpose. They die all the time when they see angels, simply because such pathetic forms can’t comprehend our… _their_ bodies, but… I killed a human, and I _meant it.”_

“Who did you kill?”

“That’s the thing! It wasn’t world-changing, or historical. I was down on earth, and I saw a man mistreating his child and I thought… that can’t be how humans should act. And I got angry. I killed him, sent him straight to Hell. After that, I got, oh damn it - what do you call it down here? - excommunicated? Cast out?”

“I get you.”

“So here I am.”

“That’s horrible. I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not. And I wouldn’t want your pity either way. I’ve had a very long time to think about it, and I wouldn’t want to be an angel if I couldn’t enact revenge against scum like that. Not that being a demon is any better.”

“Can’t you become human?”

“Not by my own hand. It would require a lot of force, and energy, and will, and even then it’s not guaranteed to work.”

“But I could use my trade to do it, couldn’t I? That’s what you want to say, isn’t it?”

“Your _soul _isn’t worth that, Akira. Fuck, I’d rather you chose money or something even more superficial.”

“Let’s talk hypothetically,” Akira says, looking intently at Goro’s face, “how would it happen?”

“Well, we’d make the deal. And since I wouldn’t be a demon anymore, your contract would get passed onto some other demon, and they’re the one who’d come and take your soul in ten years.”

“And you?”

“I’d lose all my memories, both angel and demon. I’d just be a human with amnesia.”

“And when you died?”

“I’d go to Heaven or Hell depending on how I acted as a human.”

“So you’d essentially be saved?”

“At the cost of your damnation, yes,” Goro says, “but don’t you dare.”

“Hey,” Akira replies, smiling, “I didn’t think you got to pass moral judgement on the deal I make.”

“I _don’t. _But I’m asking you not to.”

“Sorry, I’ve already made up my mind,” Akira says, lying down on his back and looking up at the sky. The candles still burn around them both, and he points out the brightest star to Goro. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“You’d never see it again,” Goro says, “you can’t even imagine how bad it is down there. And it’s for _eternity, _Akira. Nobody wants to play the hero for that long.”

“I’ve decided on the deal I want to make. My soul for your humanity.”

“I can’t stop you. If you do this, I’ll _have _to follow through.”

“That’s the idea.”

“Akira, I’m begging you. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“Then good job it’s not your wish,” Akira says. Of course, he’s_ terrified_, but he feels like he’d be going to Hell either way if he simply abandoned someone who’s been through so much undue hurt, even if they are currently a demon. There’s almost a choked sob from Goro, but by the time Akira turns his head, Goro’s face is unreadable. 

He stands up and Goro does, too, as they face each other. Goro says something, and then the candles burst up, creating a wall of flame around them; pulling Akira close, he plants his hand underneath his shirt, right on the small of his back - it _burns _so intensely that Akira almost instinctively pulls away, but the force of whatever is going on is so strong that he has to remain frozen in place. Together, the world seems to spin around them, until an undeniably horrific _crack _bursts through the floor and they fall apart. 

When he comes to, the circle of symbols is gone, and the candles are out. Goro lies on the ground, and he sits up at the same time as Akira does, rubbing his head and looking around in wild confusion.

“W-Where am I?” Goro says. “Who am I?”

“You’re Goro Akechi. You, uh, hit your head pretty badly, you told me your name before you passed out. Come on, I’ll help you get to a hospital.”

* * *

**_TEN YEARS LATER_**

“Morning, honey,” Goro rolls over in bed, “I should get up for work.”

“Not today,” Akira says, “take the day off.”

“You know I’m working on that case, my boss will kill me if I call in sick.”

“Please? For me?”

“Oh, you know I can’t resist those eyes,” Goro says, _“fine. _But you better make something nice for breakfast to make up for it.”

“Anything you want.”

“Mm, that’s why I love you,” Goro plants soft kisses against Akira’s collarbone, “darling.”

“I love you, too. Come on, let’s get up. I feel like today isn’t a day we should waste.”

Akira showers in cold water. Once he’s made breakfast for them both, he poses the question to Goro about doing all of their favourite things, a suggestion that makes Goro’s eyes light up at the mere mention of another one of their chess matches. 

Midday creeps up on them like checkmate, and Akira glances at the clock - they’ve spent the morning drinking freshly brewed coffee and playing chess together, the perfect start to a wonderful day. It warms his heart when he begins to cook the same curry that he learned to make back in Tokyo, and Goro tries to help out however he can; he’s been getting a lot better at cooking these days, and Akira can’t help but feel an immense surge of pride.

As the sun begins to set, they go on an evening walk together, watching the first few stars prick the skyline and pointing out how beautiful things look when they wander down country roads and the absence of artificial light blooms the sky into something ethereal. _Like fire, _Goro says, and Akira doesn’t respond, only holds his hand and commits to memory the feeling of Goro’s skin against his.

Back in the house, they open a bottle of whiskey and toast to everything - to their life together, and to Goro’s thankfulness that it was Akira who found him on that dirt road ten years ago after whatever accident had caused him to lose his memory. He never got it back, but he learned to build a life around the present and the future, and hand-in-hand with Akira, he achieved all that and more.

The clock ticks to half past eleven, and then twenty to midnight, and then, finally, five minutes to midnight - it’s all passing so fast, and Akira gulps down his whiskey and pours himself another glass. 

“I’m tired,” Goro says, “should we go to bed?”

“Stay,” Akira begs, “just for a few minutes. I’m comfy.”

“Of course.”

“Will you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Close your eyes. Just… keep them closed, okay?”

“What is this, some kind of surprise? Is that what you’ve been building up to today?”

“No. I wish it was, Goro. And remember,” _one minute to midnight, _“I love you, okay? You did everything perfectly.”

“What’s happening? Why do you sound like something awful is about to happen?”

“Just, tell me you’ll remember that, okay?”

“Of course I’ll remember it. With you, I don’t doubt that I’m loved.”

“Thank you,” Akira whispers.

_Midnight._

The floor bursts open into blazing red flame and thick, black smoke rising in plumes. Instinctively, Akira shields Goro with his own body, even though he knows that everything is going to plan - whatever demon will arise won’t be here to hurt Goro, only to take Akira to Hell. He wants to put up a fight, and he does, swinging wildly at the form that emerges from the fire, until rusted, heavy chains pierce his arms and legs and he falls to the ground, screaming in pain. Over the past ten years, he’s imagined this moment so many times, and he always liked to think that he’d take it with some kind of grace - that Goro’s last memory of him wouldn’t be his face contorted in agonising pain, his desperate screams to be saved ringing forever in the halls of their house.

In the end, he couldn’t follow through. The last thing he sees is Goro, reaching out for him, screaming his name; he almost manages to grab Goro’s hand, and then he remembers that demons don’t care, they’re not kind, Goro himself was an exception, and there’s nothing to say that Goro is explicitly protected from being taken to Hell as collateral damage.

So Akira pulls away, and then it’s over.

Goro is left, hands beating against the floor, the sharp coldness of loneliness seeping into his body.


	2. Chapter 2

He can’t breathe. Akira _can’t breathe. _His lungs fill with nothing but smoke, and his body, broken and weary, clamours to get some kind of foothold against the water he’s submerged in; it fluctuates between boiling hot and ice cold, to the point where he’s unable to distinguish between the two, but he isn’t lucky enough to have become numb to any of the pain.

And here, his tears mean nothing. He’s learned that screaming only floods his throat with thick fire, and any noise that he does make will be drowned out by the collective collapse of all the souls around him. Hell is pain, it’s fire and burning and all those clichés, but by god, the worst thing about Hell is how lonely it is. Everyone is out for themselves, clinging to their disembodied hope that only serves to bite them, _hard, _once the prospect of eternity sinks back into their torn and supple flesh.

It took less than thirty seconds from his arrival in Hell for Akira to wish he was dead. Anything would be better than this unrelenting pain; there is no end to this - no peace, no nothingness, only an existential continuum of torment and agony. He hasn’t seen much of the demon that brought him here, in fact he hasn’t seen much of _anything _that has any substance; he’d expected it to be a visual cacophony of burning reds and clamouring bodies, but as much as Hell is a sensory experience, it isn’t much one for sight. Which, Akira thinks, is arguably worse, blindly fumbling in some thick darkness, never knowing where the next jolt of pain is going to come from.

When the screaming around him stops, giving way to a muted kind of sickening clarity, he winces. He _knows _that this is the calm before the storm, a moment of reprieve before everything doubles down and hits him even harder than before. There’d be no point to continual torture without occasionally flitting between manufactured strands of hope - it’s an emotional toil, and one that Akira doubts he’ll ever get used to.

Images flash through his mind, of Goro, both as a demon and as a human. They merge into one, a mangled mess of twice as many limbs and far too little skin, a creature born from a damned soul, the Frankenstein’s monster of Akira’s own creation; and still, he can’t bring himself to regret sacrificing his own life for Goro’s. That’s what he’s scared of most, he thinks, that he’ll eventually get to the point where he physically cannot take any more torture without looking for someone to blame.

The creature he’s seeing behind his eyes murmurs a creaking, unreal version of his name - _Akiiiiiiirrraaaaaaa - _and it sounds so much like hatred, so much unlike Goro, with his soft, sleepy voice in the morning and his gentle cuddles in bed. Is that why Akira is being forced to view this unreality? To taint even the _memories_ he has of a happy life?

Something cracks through the image and burns into his eyelids, a horizon of colours; his head pounds and he screams even though he knows it’s useless, tearing at his face to try and get this _thing _out of his head before he explodes and has to continue the rest of his tortured eternity as a disembodied monster.

“Do not deny me,” a voice says, both within and without of his mind, “do not accept this as your fate.”

“I…” Akira chokes out, his voice thick and hoarse.

“Call upon me, and I will release you from this Hell.”

* * *

Goro hasn’t left the house in a month. For the first few days, he couldn’t even leave the spot that Akira died, curled up against the floorboards, sobbing until he had nothing left to give, and then just shaking with the aching loneliness that he’s been feeling since. He still doesn’t know what happened, but he knows that Akira didn’t go peacefully - seeing him scream and pull his hand away is an image that’s burned hard into Goro’s mind.

He’d trade places with him in an instant, if only he knew _how._

Now, he just sits in bed, cradling the photograph of them both that used to sit on Akira’s bedside table. Sleep comes either far too much or far too little, and he isn’t sure which is worse - to be filled with nightmares of Akira’s death, or to have to confront the waking spaces around their house in which he no longer exists. He wants to rip out his own skin and carve a space wholly for Akira’s memory, to become nothing other than a vessel through which his lover can reignite himself, and Goro can slip away into nothingness.

When the bedroom fills with an aching, blinding, _golden _light, Goro is almost glad; he thinks that whatever took Akira has come to claim him, too, and then he’ll finally get what he deserves. It’s so overwhelming that he has to squeeze his eyes shut, pushing his hands out, palms flat, begging to be killed so that he doesn’t have to deal with his grief any longer. 

Instead, the light fades and he cautiously opens his eyes to see the bedroom in a state of utter disarray, through which a large figure stands - it seems to be almost ghostlike, passing through the floor and ceiling, but self-contained enough that Goro can recognise it as a body. But that doesn’t matter, because this behemoth is cradling a comparatively small body in its arms; broken, bruised, unconscious. _Akira._

“Akira!” Goro shouts, but is commanded into silence by the creature.

“I am Satanael,” it says, “here to return what was taken from you.”

“Akira, is he…?”

“He will not wake with me alone. It is imperative that I relay to you what he did not.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your history, Goro Akechi. Who you really are, and what Akira Kurusu did to save you.”

“I… I don’t understand?”

“You have been many things, Goro,” Satanael says, “before you have been human. You were an angel, before you fell, and then you were a demon. In order to remove your memories and allow you to live a life as a human, unchained to Heaven or Hell, Akira sacrificed his soul.”

“He did what? Why? What’s going on?”

“Ten years ago, a then-nineteen year old Akira Kurusu summoned a demon: you. Upon forming a contract, he traded his soul for your freedom.”

“Why would he do that? If he only just met me, why would he…?”

“His heart is impossible to understand even for the otherworldly planes.”

“And I just… I just _let him _do that?”

“You were bound to your own contract. You could not refuse once summoned. I hope it eases your mind somewhat to know that you protested right until the deal was made.”

“I…” Goro says, still staring at Akira’s body, “is he going to be okay?”

“I have high hopes. I will be leaving him in your care from this moment forward.”

“Wait!” Goro shouts, but Satanael lays Akira’s body down gently on the bed, looking fondly at him - with a mixture of care and pride - and then sinks through the floor into a puddle of nothingness. In his wake, a plume of golden light surrounds Akira, caressing his wounds and plunging directly into his heart; when it dissipates, Akira is no longer broken, bloody, or bruised, but he isn’t _awake _either.

Reality floods back into Goro’s body, and he rushes to Akira’s side, terrified and careful not to disturb him. He gently picks him up, laying him on top of the bed and sitting on the edge next to him, checking his temperature with the back of his hand. He seems to be in an alright condition - whatever Satanael did with his light must have given him the recovery that, without which, Akira would have died.

It almost doesn’t register in Goro’s mind when Akira blinks his eyes open, and it surprises him even more that he bolts up, backing himself into a corner and shielding his eyes from Goro.

“Akira, I…”

“I won’t fall for this again! You’re not real, you’re not him, you’re just going to give me hope and then hurt me and I can’t _do it _anymore!”

“Akira, it’s me.”

“You can’t be him! He doesn’t belong in a place like this!”

“You’re not in Hell.”

“Please, let me die,” Akira’s voice sounds _broken, _like he’s on the verge of tears, and Goro has to push away a breakdown of his own, because right now he needs to help Akira through this. Tentatively, he lays a hand on Akira’s arm, and although he initially flinches, he must realise that there’s no pain or malice here, and upon doing so, he falls forward into Goro’s arms.

“You’re safe, now,” Goro says, stroking Akira’s hair.

“I don’t care if this isn’t real. I’ll take it for now.”

“It’s real. I’m real, you’re real. Whatever happened, it’s over, now.”

Akira sobs. He clutches at Goro’s shirt, balling his fists into the fabric and clinging onto whatever he can latch onto; it’s a vulnerable side that, even in ten years, Goro never got to see much of.

“You’re really back,” Goro whispers, “I… I missed you so much.”

“I’m sorry, I…”

“I don’t agree with what you did ten years ago. Satanael told me, and god, it’s tearing me apart, but you’re here now. We’re both here, and I’m not going anywhere. But why… why would you do that for me?”

“Y-You needed saving,” Akira says, his voice muffled and small.

“Then I suppose it’s time for me to repay the favour.”

He gently rubs Akira’s back, giving him gentle kisses all across his shoulders and cheeks, wiping away Akira’s tears with no regard for his own. There’s going to be a lot to talk about in the morning, a lot to process and work through, but for now, the worst is over. They’ve both gone through Hell and back, and still ended up in each other’s arms; like nature, in all its poetry and magnitude, has willed them to fight for something earthly and beautiful.

And they have won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You wanted a happy ending so here you go :)
> 
> (shout out to the almost 'very poetry of nature' reference)

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys would like a part two (involving Satanael and maybe a happy ending?) just let me know!


End file.
